


Serendipity

by Awesomecake



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awesomecake/pseuds/Awesomecake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the top of the Carrock, Bilbo reflects on the journey so far. Thorin provides a vision for the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serendipity

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written in ages, and the first I've written for the Hobbit fandom. There will be more though, the film swept me off my feet completely. :) 
> 
> Unbeta'd. Feel free to point out any typos and such that you might find. 
> 
> Enjoy!

They ate their breakfast on the rock spire where the eagles had left them, the mood merry despite the meagre rations. They had crossed the Misty Mountains, leaving both goblins and orcs far behind, and now the Lonely Mountain, the lost kingdom of Erebor, was within sight. True, it had taken a fair amount of serendipity for them to get that far, but, Bilbo pondered, all heroes in all stories always seemed to have some manner of luck on their side. Not that he considered himself a hero, really, but for what he'd seen so far, Gandalf probably qualified as one, and Thorin most certainly did. 

Thorin... 

Every time Bilbo closed his eyes he saw it again. The leader of the dwarves, silhouetted against the fires, walking slowly but without hesitation towards the monstrous Pale Orc on his white warg. He'd had a kind of premonition then, of what their adventure would be if the would-be-King of the dwarves was slain, and the answer was simple: over. Even if they weren't all killed they'd be left leaderless, and it was the loyalty to Thorin, and the steadfast belief that he could defeat the dragon at journey's end, that kept the company together. At least, that went for the dwarves. What Bilbo felt was more complicated.

It had been madness, rushing at the Pale Orc like that; a tiny hobbit going up against two great beasts working as one. But Thorin was down, possibly dead, and he couldn't have that. Not before he'd proven his worth, proven that he wasn't just some fussy little home keeper whose greatest concern lay with the state of his doilies. He'd tried to show him that already, he certainly had, by attempting to save first the ponies and then the entire company from the trolls, and then by not running away when he'd had the chance, once they'd made it out of the goblins' caves, but that obviously hadn't been enough. Probably because those small victories had – seemingly – been more thanks to the aforementioned serendipity than any bravery or cunning displayed by Bilbo the would-be-Burglar. 

But going up against Azog the Defiler, the one creature Thorin feared, had obviously been a feat of enough mindbogglingly stupid courage to earn Bilbo a place in Thorin's good book. Escaping away with the eagles afterwards should've been exhilarating, but Bilbo had not been able to enjoy it. He'd watched Thorin, hanging limply from the scythe-like claws of an eagle, fearing that the rescue had come too late. That the adventure was already over. And then Gandalf had revived Thorin, and a different kind of fear had gripped Bilbo's heart as the dwarf came towards him, glowering. Saying that he was in the way, that he was useless, that he should've stayed home – and that he, Thorin Oakenshield, had never been so wrong before. 

And then Bilbo had been wrapped in a massive hug, scented with leather and iron and blood and sweat, with bits of armour digging into his skin and a face-full of grizzled hair, and suddenly he knew why he'd gone along in the first place. It was for the adventure, yes, but not the one involving dragons and lost treasures, no. It was for the one thing he could never dream of finding in the Shire. An exiled prince, a fierce leader, a scarred hero of battles against enemies great and small. The kind of man he would give his life and surrender his heart for.

Bilbo ate his share of cured ham and dry bread in silence as the dwarves laughed and joked around him. Gandalf had climbed down to the base of the rock, doing whatever it was wizards did when they wandered off, and Thorin was still standing at the edge of the precipice, his eyes pinned on the distant Mountain. He hadn't eaten anything yet, so Bilbo gathered his courage, some ham, and a horn of mead, and walked up to him. 

“I, er, brought you some ham. There wasn't much left, and Bombur had his eyes on it. Got mead too.”

Thorin remained still, not looking at Bilbo, ignoring the proffered ham. The look in his eyes was so wistful that Bilbo had to look away.

“You must think I'm mad, aiming to oust a dragon from the greatest hoard in Middle Earth.”

“Well – well, yes. But it's your home. If a dragon invaded Bag End... I wouldn't be happy. I doubt I'd have the courage to fight it alone, but there are plenty of folks back in the Shire who are dab hands with pitchforks, so if we banded together we might get it out. No one wants a dragon for neighbour, right? Mind you, it'd have to be a rather small dragon, or it wouldn't get through the front door in the first place.”

“I suppose we'll make the entrance a bit smaller when we rebuild Erebor.”

Bilbo hesitated – did Thorin actually make a joke just then? He glanced up at the dwarf and found that, for once, those blue flint eyes were surrounded by laughter lines rather than the frown he'd grown accustomed to. Bilbo stared, and Thorin chuckled at him, a low rumble that could easily be mistaken for a growl. 

“You look like a dwarfling who sees the Arkenstone for the first time.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to say something, forgot what it was, closed his mouth, then opened it to try again, but then Thorin started laughing – actually laughing! – and he lost it. The adrenaline and fear that had filled him for days escaped in an undignified fit of giggles, more becoming of a Took than a Baggins. Thorin clapped an arm around his shoulders, and for a while they just stood there, at the top of the rock spire, laughing together like nothing in the world mattered.

“Once we're rid of Smaug there will still be years of work ahead, rebuilding what he ruined,” Thorin said once they'd stopped snickering. “I know that you miss the Shire, and I won't keep you any longer than you wish, but you're welcome to stay. You'll have a home in Erebor as long as you want it.”

Bilbo's mind reeled, his heart suddenly pounding. Stay in Erebor? It could be amazing, exploring those great halls, the deep mines, and the heaps of treasure... But it might be years before it was all rebuilt, depending on how much the dragon had destroyed, and in the mean time, wouldn't he be in the way of the builders? Would he even get to see Thorin, if he became the crowned king of the Erebor dwarves and had to spend his days doing whatever it was kings actually did? Supervising and whatnot? Collecting taxes? Bilbo certainly didn't want to get underfoot if there was tax collecting to be done; he figured that was a probably a pretty violent business when dwarves were involved. And who knew, the whole place might be full of rancid dragon dung. He definitely didn't feel like – 

“You are going to say no,” Thorin said, his voice like distant thunder; “but know this: you wouldn't get a suite to yourself, or a room. You wouldn't take your meals with the builders and the workers, and you wouldn't be free to roam wherever you like.” 

Thorin leaned in over Bilbo, his eyes glimmering like raw sapphires. 

“I would show you anything you wanted to see. I would dine with you. And I would have you share the royal chambers with me. All I ask for in return... is you.”

Bilbo wanted to go home. He really, _really_ wanted to go home. Tea, biscuits, a good book, and a pipe of Longbottom leaf was all he really needed to get by, in an uncomplicated, comfortable, _hobbity_ sort of way. But if he ever wanted to do more than just “get by”, well, here was his chance. Something – some _one_ – greater than he could ever had imagined was within his reach, all he had to do was to say yes. Just say yes...

“I, uh... I don't know how long I'll stay. My longing for the Shire might one day overcome me, and it's – it's where I _belong_. You understand this.”

“Of course. But –“

“But I wouldn't mind staying. A while. If it's with you. And you're obviously welcome at Bag End at any time, should you find any reason to be passing by.” 

“Is that a promise?”

“Yes.”

“Then I shall hold you to it.”

Thorin took the drinking horn Bilbo had all but forgotten he was holding, raised it in a toast, and then took a deep, long draught of mead. He then gave the horn back to Bilbo, who repeated the gesture. A concord had been reached. They looked at each other, smiling, but the moment was interrupted by Bofur calling that it was time to go. Bilbo laughed.

“All right then! Let's go dragon ousting!” 

“Patience, Mister Baggins. The day is clear, and the Lonely Mountain appears closer than it truly is. Before we get there we'll have to cross Greenwood the Great, where plenty of obstacles may await us. Especially now that it's becoming known as Mirkwood, home of creatures dark and fell.”

“Well, yes. But nothing worse than a dragon, right?”

“We'll see.”

“Right. Right, well, there goes my mood. Great big forest, may contain dragons. Or worse. Excellent.”

“I won't let anything harm you.”

And Bilbo believed it. He'd thought he needed an adventure, an unexpected journey. He'd thought he needed to be more Took, less Baggins. He'd thought he'd have to find the courage within himself, but he'd found it where he'd never even dreamed of looking. He was Bilbo Baggins, a hobbit of the Shire, and he'd brave the deepest forest, the highest mountains, and the darkest caves, as long as he had Thorin Oakenshield by his side. 

**Author's Note:**

> It was half a day before Bilbo realised he was still carrying the piece of cured ham he'd meant to give to Thorin. He gave it to a passing fox instead.


End file.
